The title of the sermon this morning comes from a 19th Century journalist named Finley Peter Dunne, a contemporary of Joseph Pulitzer.  He wrote under the pseudonym of an Irishman named Mr. Dooley.  The full quotation goes like this:

“Th newspaper does ivrything f’r us.
It runs th’ polis foorce an’ th’ banks,
commands th’ milishy,
controls th’ ligislachure,
baptizes th’ young,
marries th’ foolish,
comforts th’ afflicted,
afflicts th’ comfortable,
buries th’ dead
an’ roasts thim aftherward.”

Preachers were quick to apply Dooley’s words to the Christian faith, that the nature of the gospel is to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable – that the preacher’s job – and the job of every Christian, for that matter – is to offer hope and consolation to those who are hurting while standing strong against the evils of injustice and oppression and selfish pursuit.

And that’s what we find in the scripture lesson for today: Paul offered the Ephesians the promise of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ.  In so doing, he denounced the sin of idolatry that was so prevalent in the city of Ephesus.

It took him a while to get there.  If you’ll recall, Paul had wanted to go to Ephesus early on in his second missionary journey, but the Spirit stood in his way.  So he went to Troas instead.  From there, he sailed to Greece where his ministry took a different course.

It’s easy to see the attraction Ephesus had for Paul.  It was the largest city in Asia Minor and the provincial seat of power for the Roman Empire.  It had a 25,000-seat theater that doubled as an arena for sporting events, as well as a number of baths and brothels.  If you visit the ruins of Ephesus today, you can find graffiti carved in the sidewalk dating back to the First Century giving directions to the nearest house of ill-repute!

Ephesus was a port city on the Aegean Sea that attracted a steady stream of sailors, merchants and travelers from all over the world.

It was home for the great Temple of Artemis, one of the Seven Wonders of the World, built in 550 B.C. to honor the Greek goddess of hunting, wild nature, and fertility and said to be the most beautiful and perfectly built structure on earth.

Plus, it was huge.  It measured roughly twice the size of the Parthenon!  It served as both temple and marketplace.  People came from far and near to pay homage to Artemis and shop.

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Paul may have been happy to be there, but he had his work cut out for him – politicians and prostitutes, gofers and gladiators – Ephesus had them all.  If he could just win them over to Christ, just think of how the gospel might spread from there!

So, he followed his usual pattern.  For three months he went to the synagogue and tried to convince the Jews that Jesus was the Promised Messiah of the Jewish faith.  When that failed, he went to the Gentiles, in this case meeting in the public lecture hall of Tyannus. (Acts 19:8-10)

For two years he did O.K.  Then the trouble began.  Paul spoke out against Artemis and the worship of idols.  Theologically, he was on solid ground.  The First Commandment is clear: “You shall have no other gods before me.”  I doubt that anyone challenged him on that score.

But, as often happens, there was more at stake than religion.  In this case, it was money and lots of it.  Paul’s preaching threatened the livelihood of a whole guild of silversmiths who made their living casting silver figurines of Artemis for people to set up in their homes and shops and, I suppose, hang from the mirrors of their chariots.

The spokesman was a man named Demitrius, and it didn’t take him long to get the whole city up in arms.  They filled the theater and began to chant, “Great is Artemis of the Ephesians!”

Two of Paul’s companions were dragged into the theater and placed center stage.  You can imagine the outcry. Luke says that Paul wanted to go and address the crowd himself, but his friends held him back.  It would be like sending a lamb to slaughter.

Before a riot broke out a local magistrate intervened.  He told the crowd they had nothing to worry about and, if they had a complaint, they could take it to court.  Otherwise, they should go home, lest they attract the attention of the Roman soldiers.  And they did.

As for Paul, he quickly said his goodbyes and got on the first ship sailing for Greece.  He would never set foot in Ephesus again.

I wonder what must have been going through Paul’s mind as he sailed from Ephesus to Philippi.  Did he kick himself and wonder, “What was I thinking?”  Or, did he feel smug, thinking to himself, “It’s about time somebody told them the truth.”?

We’ll never know, but it’s worth considering.  After all, it’s fair to say that, in two year’s time, Paul must have done a lot of good in Ephesus.  In my mind’s eye, I see a healthy congregation growing steadily, day by day, with young couples being married and babies being born and new converts being won over to Christ.  I see a congregation caring for the sick and giving alms to the poor, supporting each other in times of crisis and grieving with each other in times of death.

I like to think of Paul as a caring pastor who practiced what he preached when he said that the church was the body of Christ, “when one member suffers, all the members suffer with it. Or when one member is honored, all the members rejoice with it.” (1 Corinthians 12:26)

I picture Paul reassuring his congregation that there’s nothing that can ever come between us and God’s love, that they need not fear hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword.  I can just hear him now:

“No, in all these things, we are more than conquerors
through him who loved us.
For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life,
nor angels, nor principalities,
nor things present, nor things to come,
nor powers, nor height, nor depth,
nor any other created thing,
will be able to separate us
from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:37-39)

Surely, Paul was a caring priest who knew how to comfort the afflicted.  But he was also a fiery prophet, who didn’t hesitate afflicting the comfortable and challenging the status quo.

And that’s what he did in Ephesus.  He went for the jugular and attacked the dominant force holding sway over the Ephesians – the Temple of Artemis and the worship of idols.

It was a gutsy move on Paul’s part.  To put it in a more modern-day setting, can you imagine:

• A Billy Graham crusade in Battle Creek, Michigan, where he lashes out against the harmful effects of breakfast cereals and shames parents for feeding their children such things as Sugar Pops and Captain Crunch and Frosted Flakes?

• Or Joel Osteen taking a group from his Lakeside Church in Houston to Hershey, Pennsylvania, where they fan out over the city and try to convince the locals that chocolate is the work of the devil, and that they should boycott all Hershey products?

• Or Bishop T. J. Jakes of Dallas going to Detroit to denounce the auto makers for the harmful effects of the internal combustion engine?

It’d be political suicide.  They’d be run out of town, just as you would if you said something bad around here about the Razorbacks!  In a sense, Paul got what he deserved when he was forced to leave Ephesus.

Do you think he had any regrets?  Do you think, if he had it all to do over again, he’d soften his attack and look for common ground – say, invite Demitrius and a couple of other silversmiths to give a talk on the fine art of idol making, maybe ask them to make a silver crucifix for the church in Ephesus?

I don’t think so.  I think Paul would be the first to tell us that there’s a time to comfort the afflicted, and there’s time to afflict the comfortable.  There’s a time in which we need to speak words of encouragement and hope to those who are hurting, and there’s a time in which we must be willing confront the evils of this world and speak the truth in love, even when it hurts, and even when it costs us dearly.

• Mahatma Ghandi did this in India when he challenged British imperialism and led India in one of the most dramatic revolutions in the history of civilization.

• Nelson Mandela did this in South Africa when he spoke out against apartheid and helped break the hold of the white minority there.

• Martin Luther King did it in this country when he marched down the streets of Selma, Alabama and later, when he spoke on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and shared his dream of a nation no longer divided by racial segregation.

There’s a time to comfort the afflicted, and there’s a time to afflict the comfortable.  And those times don’t always have to be so dramatic.  They can be as simple as telling a friend, “I think you’re drinking too much … eating too much … talking too much.”  “I think you should be in church on Sunday.”

As long as you’re honest and objective and not judgmental – and it helps to preface a remark with, “I think,” rather than, “You ought to …” – as long as you speak the truth in love, in other words, confrontation can be the right thing to do.

That doesn’t mean others will thank you.  When I was a band director years ago, a couple of my students told me that one of the girls in the band was slipping out at night and going out with some pretty unsavory boys.  Her parents were both teachers and band parents and colleagues of mine.  I considered them to be friends.  So, I told them what I’d heard.  They told me to mind my own business and they never spoke to me again.

I still think I did the right thing.  It’s so easy to look the other way and pretend you don’t notice.  It’s also easy to let someone else do the talking.

The story is told of a missionary in Africa who succeeded in converting the tribal chieftain.  As it happened, the old chief had five wives, so the missionary told him that, if he wanted to be a Christian, he could only have one wife.  He’d have to choose which one was to be his wife and tell the others that they’d have to find other husbands.  The chief thought for a moment and said, “O.K., I’ll choose.  You tell the others.”

Let’s face it: Comforting others suits our natural inclinations and makes us feel good.  We enjoy helping others fulfill their wants and needs.  Confrontation, on the other hand, is unpleasant, and we tend to avoid it like the plague.  Yet, there’s no denying it – the gospel calls us to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable, and that takes a lot of gumption.

No one knew this better than Harry Emerson Fosdick, one of the pioneers of “the social gospel.” In 1922, as Associate Pastor of First Presbyterian Church in New York City, Fosdick preached a sermon that still rings true today.  It was entitled, “Shall the Fundamentalists Win?”  In it, he challenged the fallacies of Biblical fundamentalism.  It created a firestorm and cost him his job.

For Fosdick, it was just the beginning.  With the help of John D. Rockefeller, he founded Riverside Church near Harlem and a ministry that reached out to the whole city.  It was one of the first churches in the United States – if not the first – to embrace people of every race, religion and walk of life.  He was both friend of the well-to-do and champion of the underdog.  Few have made a stronger impact or left a greater legacy of service to their fellow man.

Fosdick wrote a hymn for the opening worship service of Riverside Church on October 5, 1930.  I don’t know of any better words to end the sermon today than those of the fourth verse:

“Save us from weak resignation
from the evils we deplore;
Let the search for thy salvation
be our glory evermore.

“Grant us wisdom, grant us courage,
serving Thee whom we adore;
Serving Thee whom we adore.”

Friends, comfort the afflicted and, when necessary, afflict the comfortable.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.  Amen.

Copyright 2007, Philip W. McLarty.   Used by permission.

Scripture quotations are from the World English Bible (WEB), a public domain (no copyright) modern English translation of the Holy Bible.